Coffee Shop Zone of Inhibition
by elvenwanderer
Summary: "This was the point, admittedly very late in the process, that I first thought any of this was odd or in the least bit sketchy." First person OFC point of view of meeting a mysterious man at a coffee shop in which many questions are raised.


I was at a coffee shop. My favorite coffee shop, the place I usually come with my friends and coworkers but today I was alone. The Pourhouse Café is a local hole-in-the-wall place that brews their own blends. Their coffee is not spectacular, but there is something about spending my money at a place that donates their profits and tips to charity rather than lining the pockets of some guy who drew a half-naked mermaid that makes me feel better about it. This place serves all types from the local paupers to the trendy hipster crowd. I'm a chemistry grad student however, so it's not like I have that much time or money to be spending at such a place, but still I take the fifteen minutes to walk here two or three times a week. I like watching people (and getting out of lab for a little while), and coffee and a house-baked scone is a great way to do it. Not to mention it's a total of five dollars for a half-hour break from the off-key singing Indians (my esteemed labmates). Normally, they're fine and I love them, but some days… just… no.

I was seated at one of the tall tables when _he_ walked in. I say "_he"_ not "he" because it was pretty clear he was somehow… _more_ than the normal customer at Pourhouse. I had a hard time pinpointing why, but he was just different. He was artsy without the priss, hipster without the skinny jeans and annoying rims, and normal without just being normal. He stood out to me, but for no discernible reason. After perusing the menu and bake-case he ordered a turtle mocha and a blueberry scone, admittedly my two favorite things there. I grinned, looking down at my half-finished scone and mug of mocha.

I glanced back up and met his eyes as he took a scan around the place, though our gazes met for nothing more than a millisecond. I cocked my head to the side when I saw his eyes travel to both the exits and he turned ever-so-slightly to have his back to the corner of the room. As a grade-A introvert who always sits in the corner, I could recognize his defensive strategy from a mile away… or at least from the opposite corner of the shop. It was different for him, though. This was not because he was introverted. This came from a habit of protecting himself and corners were tops for doing just that. I have no idea how I knew that when I'd never seen the man before. Perhaps it was the way he subtly gripped the newspaper under his opposite arm as if he expected to have to physically ward off the coffee-addicted undergraduates who flocked this place between class-times.

Our gazes met again, my brown eyes locked with his blue ones. I was too far away and the room too dark for me to actually tell his eye color, but I knew they would be blue. His head cocked to the side, similar to how I know mine had been a few moments before.

The worker placed his scone on a plate and set it on the bar. He looked startled when she slid it at him, but recovered quickly and took the plate with a smile. He then had to shift his newspaper slightly higher in his arm to accommodate the addition of a mug. His gaze met mine again. I honestly have no idea what came over me, but I moved my mug and printed-out article closer towards me in a way that could mean "you can sit here." He came over to my table and paused in front of the seat opposite me as if asking permission. I nodded and he sat down.

"Palladium catalysis with chiral phosphine ligands?" His voice was smooth. I turned the article so he could take a better look. He skimmed the front page and turned it back towards me. "Sounds horrid."

I was not particularly one to care for transition metal catalysis but was only reading that article because I wanted to brush up on the topic, I didn't disagree with him. I glanced at the cover of the newspaper he had set on the table and wrinkled my nose. "So does politics." He looked at me, his expression curious.

"Most people your age care about politics."

"I'm not most people 'my age,'" I replied, my eyebrows pulling together in consternation. I hate it when people say that… or call me ma'am. Now that he mentioned age, he didn't look terribly older than I, though his eyes said something else. "Everything goes in cycles. This year's political fad will be the newest chapter in next year's history textbook." I took a breath after my mini-rant and felt my face go red at his raised eyebrows. He looked amused. "Sorry, I don't usually rant like that…."

"Especially to someone you have never met before?"

I cocked my head to the side again. He took a sip of his mocha, I took a sip of mine. He studied my Starbucks travel mug between my fingers, and I felt I could imagine what was going through his mind. I snapped the lid closed, turned it upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. "I don't often shop at Starbucks, but when I do, I buy quality mugs." I said this with a terrible Spanish accent. Then, without an accent, "this thing is magic, it keeps coffee warm for hours." He laughed. I liked his laugh and smiled in return.

"You come here often?"

Somehow I knew his question was harmless and I also knew it was an opener into figuring out who I was. I don't know why he was intrigued with me, but the interest was clearly there, as much as I was intrigued by his presence. Two could play that game, though. I picked up my mug again and waved it, "best turtle mocha and second-best blueberry scones in town."

"Second best?" He took a bite and chewed a moment, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "I think they are quite good."

"The place on third has better scones, but the coffee is too bitter for me."

"Ah." The expression on his face changed from thoughtful to expectant. I didn't answer his question and we both knew it. I could sense approval from him, however.

"Enough to know you had to read the menu." I hedged again, but this time there was a hint of an answer. I was not _that_ easy to decipher, especially to someone I'd never met before. I was also telling him that no matter how often I was there, he had likely not been there as often.

"You study people as well?"

I was glad he admitted something about himself, whether it was true or not. "Are you always this straightforward?"

"You are the one who said I could sit down."

I grinned and gestured upwards at the ceiling. "I said nothing of the sort. I simply moved my article closer so I could read it better. The lighting in here isn't very bright. You, sir," I gestured at him now, finding him smiling, "invited yourself over and sat down." Our eyes met again. His eyes _were_ blue: a deep shade of cerulean with deeper blue flecks. His eyes were gorgeous, I had to admit. I had to say something before he thought I was creepy for staring. "I thought it was interesting you stood with your back to the register."

"Habit," he commented with a shrug. "Corners are best for watching people." His voice was light, but I could tell he had more meaning in his words, likely also commenting on how I was sitting in a corner. I nodded and flipped open the mug lid for another sip. I studied him as he studied me.

"You're different."

"Are you always this straightforward?" He returned my earlier response with a raised eyebrow as he leaned forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table.

"Not normally with someone I've never met before." It was the truth, after all.

He nodded, again apparently satisfied with my answer. I enjoy conversations like this. Playing with words and innocent innuendo is not something a chemist usually gets to do in a casual setting. Science writing is full of concision and passive tense and after a while it begins to irk on one.

"How do you mean?" His question threw me a little in its abruptness, but then again, perhaps I should have seen it coming.

I took a moment more to study him and formulate my answer. I knew I didn't have to explain to him that people stand defined distances away from others, depending on a number of factors. It's generally true and something he likely would have noticed. For instance, you out of habit stand closer to your friends and family, further away from people you don't trust, and a median distance away from everyone else. "Well, aside from looking like you would brandish that newspaper at the nearest foaming-at-the-mouth too-hipster undergrad, the people around you in line unconsciously stood a few feet away from you. They didn't look scared or concerned, didn't really notice you at all other than as the person in line after or before them. Other people were in line by themselves, but only you had a true zone of inhibition. Unless my mental creep-o-meter broke since this morning, I wouldn't be talking to you if I got even the smallest vibe you were a sketchy person."

"You certainly are amusing to speak with." He smiled and brandished the remaining corner of his scone at me before popping it in his mouth and chewing.

I grinned in return over my mug, my eyebrows silently saying: 'how do you mean?' He laughed, comprehending my question. "Foaming-at-the-mouth undergrad? Zone of inhibition?" He paused, raising an eyebrow comically in a way that reminded me significantly of Elrond in the Fellowship of the Ring movie when Merry and Pippin come running out of the bushes (yeah, I'm a Tolkien nerd, get over it). "Creep-o-meter?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, they don't let me out much."

"I can tell."

I put on a hurt face, clearly enjoying our random interaction. "Hey!"

He laughed harder, setting his mug down hard enough to splash a bit of the contents out onto the wooden table. His mood sobered immediately as he shook his hand, though I reached forward and dabbed at the unfortunate waste of mocha on the table with a napkin. (Like I said, I'm a chemist: spills happen and I clean them up like a hawk at a mouse buffet.) I glanced at his hand, seeing the faded remnants of scars on the palm, but looking for signs of a more recent burn from the liquid. He quickly pulled his hand under the table, as if sensing my gaze on it, and mumbled something about being fine. Silence descended as I put the mocha'd napkins on my plate.

"I always thought they should put pecans and whip cream on it if they call it a turtle mocha," I said off-handedly, trying to clear the very awkward cloud that settled over our table. Whatever sense of friendly mystery we had going had dissolved at his rash movement to pull his hand away. I looked at him, ducking my shoulders slightly in attempts to look contrite. "You know… like turtle candies?"

His gaze met mine again, this time it was hard and searching. I somehow knew if I had tried, I could not break my eyes from his; it was as if he was exerting a force to lock my gaze, and would only let me go when he chose. I could also feel that he was rooting around for something in my brain, though I had no idea what. My mind felt like layers were being lifted up, looked under and replaced. There was no pain or discomfort, just a slight feeling of rumpled-ness. It was the same feeling I always get when EH&S goes through the lab (or my mom going through my spice rack at home when she visits): everything is there in the right place, just subtly shifted or rotated slightly because someone else has touched it and moved it around.

Rather than being scared, like I normally would have, hell, like I _should_ have been for someone freezing me to the spot and treating my brain and thoughts like so many pebbles on a beach, I took the opportunity to browse through his brain as well. Fair's fair after all. I don't know what he saw in my eyes, but I saw misery, loneliness and _time_ in his. There were images, too. Places and people I couldn't recognize. I saw long hair, swords, Benjamin Franklin (what?), and people I knew were relations… brothers of his. I mostly saw oceans and water.

_Who __**are**__ you…?_ I wondered and immediately after that he snapped backwards, his left hand going to his heart, and his right to the wall to steady himself as he stared at me in disbelief. With his gaze broken, I knew I could move again, but I only sat there in awe. What had I just seen? Had he heard me? I didn't think I said anything out loud, but I could never be sure with some of the stupid things that fly from my mouth like bats from a cave in that episode of Dirty Jobs. If I didn't say it out loud, he couldn't have heard my thoughts… could he? He kept blinking at me for a few moments, clearly as out-of-sorts as I was. Whatever that was, I had never felt anything like it before.

"You… I…" He stumbled trying for words.

In my normal way of trying to break the tension by being spontaneous, I threw out a name. I smiled to him trying to be cheerful, though I felt my heart racing in my chest. "Ben Franklin?"

If it was possible, he went paler than he had been moments before. If he hadn't just eaten a scone and drank a very sweet drink, I would have thought he about to faint from low blood sugar. He didn't move but continued to stare at me. At least it was a normal stare this time, nothing of the previous glue variety.

"Are you all right?" I waved a hand in front of him. In a lightning quick motion, he caught my hand in mid air, faster than I could retract it. I gasped at his cool touch. He straightened up and it was my turn to go pale as I felt the blood drain from my face. This was the point, admittedly very late in the process, that I first thought any of this was odd or in the least bit sketchy. Holy stranger danger Batman! Random guy is holding your hand! I tried to pull my hand away from his, but his grip was like iron. He inspected at the ring on my middle finger and let me go. I brought both of my hands down to my lap and looked at the corner of the table.

"I should get back to work…." I moved to put my arms in my coat at the back of my chair.

He reached across the table, stopping short just touching my empty coffee mug. He wasn't touching me, but it was close enough for me to feel my space was invaded. "Where did you get that ring?" His question was rushed and he looked anxious. I don't know what came over me, but I pitied him suddenly. His expression was strained and almost desperate. "Please…."

I looked at his hand for a moment, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Sensing this, he pulled his hand back and I spoke. "It was a gift. My dad got it for me from a shop in Canada for my thirteenth birthday; it had an amethyst, but my mom got it refitted with a ruby when the amethyst fell out a few years later." I don't know why I told him the whole story when 'it was a gift' would have been enough. I glanced at his eyes again, they were sad and full of pain. There was something about this man that made me trust him, made me want to talk to him. After the last two minutes, even I (in true Jane Austen's Lizzie Bennet fashion) who thinks the coincidences in life are there to be laughed at, thought this was getting just a little too weird. As he and I both had confirmed, I don't do this normally and I hypothesized that he didn't either (because really, who did?). "Look, sir, I…." I simultaneously attempted to stand up and put my coat on.

"D-dinner."

"Pardon?" I stopped with my second arm halfway into my coat and stared at him slack-jawed. Did he just…?

"Meet me for dinner. Please. Anywhere. You name the place. Please." He looked at me, his eyes dark and pleading. He reached out towards me again, his hand looking like it wanted to touch my face. I glared at it and it stopped halfway between me and him hanging awkwardly in mid-air. "Please."

"Hey, Aly! Long time no see."

I have never been so relieved to see my old boss in my life. He certainly knew how to show up at random - usually unwanted - times. I grinned at him, feeling shaken but relieved that he managed to time it well for once. Though I stopped working for him nearly a year ago, we have been friends since. In his normally obtrusive way, he took stock of the situation: the panicked look on my face and the guy's hand in the air, and gave me the "is everything all right?" look. He then shot a grimace at the guy whose name I never got but who asked me to dinner. He rested his coffee-laden hand on the table so his body was subtly angled to protect me. I quietly asked him if he was going back to the department and I looked away from both of them as I tried to gather my wallet and the journal article. Mr. BlueEyes handed both to me and I stared at him as I quickly took them. His eyes were pleading me as I then grabbed my mug from the table but I made sure not to give him anything that could be construed as an answer. I left with my former boss walking a half step behind me as we maneuvered around the other tables. I was feeling decidedly odd about the whole thing, and when I looked back as we walked past the front windows, the man was gone.

* * *

_Hello and goodbye to about an hour of my time. Please let me know your opinions. I hope to continue this, but we'll see what my brain does with it. This was a distinct moment of procrastination for studying for my exam next week. Eep._


End file.
